


cowardly montblanc

by enmity



Category: Persona 2, Persona Series
Genre: Eternal Punishment, Gen, Post-Game, selamat ultah (telat) bangsat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 09:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enmity/pseuds/enmity
Summary: “Nothing happened,” Tatsuya echoes, this time more warningly, and Katsuya quiets. “I thought you’d be back for your birthday, that’s all. But I guess not. Anyway, I’ll just—you’re probably tired from work or something—”“You,” Katsuya starts. “You remembered my birthday?”





	cowardly montblanc

**Author's Note:**

> this is so late and rushed lmfao
> 
> selamat ultah (telat), bangsat

December 30th lands on a Sunday this year, which is inconsequential, all things considered. It isn’t one of his off days — not that he remembers to follow through on advice, well-meaning or otherwise, to “take it easy every once in a while, Suou; we worry,” and actually take them, anyway — so by the time his shift ends Katsuya finds himself in the parking lot against the dark and sleet, trying to fit no less than three boxes of cake into the back seats of his car, careful to keep accidental cake-squishing to a minimum as he piles them into a satisfactory position in a corner and against the cushion.

The cards get slipped into the glove compartment. Some are signed, some not; some double, shrewdly, as early New Year’s greetings. Black Forest, Montblanc, a strawberry-topped shortcake. If nothing else Katsuya appreciates the sentiments, he really does (he’s not _that_ much of an oblivious fool) but in the end it had been too much of an exercise in optimism to think that perhaps months after the city flew and fell ungraciously back into place — after all the dust of Sudou’s deeds and all-but-stated-to-be heartbreak had taken its time to settle — he might have learned a thing or two about reciprocity. Evidently he hasn’t.

A little idealism for the coming year won’t hurt him though. He runs through the list as he makes the drive back through frosty weather:

Perhaps next year there will be less fitful sleep; perhaps he will be able to miraculously persuade Tatsuya into adopting a better diet. Perhaps, he will be able to think of Amano without being brought back to those secretive smiles he hadn’t been able to pierce through, in the end, or his golden-eyed effigy’s back turned to him against the swirling dark of Monad Mandala as it spoke aloud the bitterest and most hateful of his thoughts, its voice a mocking imitation of his own, every syllable filtered through years’ worth of buried resentment.

Resentment. Regret. He’s supposed to have learned a thing or two about _those_ , hasn’t he. He knows that continuing to assign those feelings to her image, no matter how faintly, is already too much leniency than he can afford himself.

Perhaps next year, he’ll come around into accepting it.

The beep of his cellphone is what interrupts his thoughts as Katsuya drags himself into his dorm room, the boxes of cake stacked precariously between his arms. Hastily he sets them on the nearby desk; no one would think of calling this late unless it’s an emergency, after all.

“Hello?” Tatsuya’s voice comes out heavy and almost jarring through the hazy, unclear reception, and though he tries not to, a part of Katsuya can’t help but recall days of frenzied phonecalls to his brother going unanswered, text messages of increased concern and anger bounced back one after another to his own number. He can count on one hand the number of conversations they’ve sustained through the phone. Maybe this is a sign that things do change.

“Tatsuya? What’s the matter?” A mark of self-improvement: a year ago, he wouldn’t have managed to bite down on the urge to needle.

“Nothing’s up,” his brother interrupts, fidgeting on the other end of the line. “It’s just—I just wanted to know—you’re not coming home this weekend?”

“With the weather like that outside, I wasn’t planning to. Is it urgent? You can tell m—”

“Nothing happened,” he echoes, this time more warningly, and Katsuya quiets. “I thought you’d be back for your birthday, that’s all. But I guess not. Anyway, I’ll just—you’re probably tired from work or something—”

“You,” Katsuya starts. “You remembered my birthday?”

“I did,” there’s a pause on the other end, brief yet seemingly stretching, broken by the static of Tatsuya taking a deep breath. “I was thinking that… since it’s been awhile since I remembered… I was kind of looking forward to wishing you in person, actually.”

He doesn’t try to keep the smile away from his voice.

“I wouldn’t mind settling for one over the phone.”

“Then—” Tatsuya says haltingly, “Happy birthday, then.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can help it,” he says. “I’ll bring the cake my co-workers brought—no, I’m sure I’ll have the time to whip something up too before I go. Anyway,” his tone grows stern; he can’t help it, “go to bed. I know it’s still the holidays, but it’s not good to stay up like this.”

“Sure,” Tatsuya groans in that way that’s become a little too endearing to affect him anymore. “You too, Katsuya. Good night.”

“Good night,” Katsuya returns, stiltedly, and in the few seconds before the line goes dead he thinks that if he can look forward to tomorrow this much, maybe it won’t be so idealistic to think that the days after that might not be so bad, after all.

He thinks, then, that Amano would be pleased to know that—and smiles.


End file.
